


Lead Us Not Into Temptation

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween, Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Bobby had already retired for the night by the time Dean and Castiel returned to the salvage yard, but Sam was still up, hunched over his laptop, deeply engrossed in his research.

“Hey,” he said, blinking owlishly at his brother and the ex-angel, as if surprised to find them suddenly materialized in front of him. “What do you think of this?”

“What is it?” Dean squinted at the squiggles on the screen.

“It is an eleventh century German sigil,” Castiel replied, casually leaning against Dean's shoulder to better see the image. “This,” he traced a line with his finger, “is the symbol for water. And this...” his finger shifted to another line, “means Heaven.”

“So... water from Heaven. Rain?” Dean hazarded a guess.

“No,” Sam shook his head. “That's not quite it. Not rain...”

“Tears,” Castiel said.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sam flicked back through his browser history. “I think I saw something about tears. Here!” He called up the window with a flourish. “Tränen. Tears.”

Castiel silently studied the screen. “This is a very complicated spell,” he said. “It will take me some time to properly analyze it but, at a glance, it appears to be just what we seek: a means to bind a powerful demon.”

Sam yawned, precipitating a cycle of yawning amongst all three men.

“I should get started,” Castiel persevered when he regained control of his traitorous jaw. “If I may borrow your computer, Sam...”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough for that,” Dean said. “A fancy spell won't do us any good if you nod off in the middle of it, or mistranslate a crucial word because your concentration's shot.”

“Dean's right,” Sam yawned again. “I'll print this off and have it waiting for you in the morning. Until then, I'll clear out of here so you can get some sleep.” Tucking the laptop under his arm, he turned towards the stairs, only to turn back and bestow a warm smile upon Castiel. “It's good to have you with us again, Cas,” he said shyly, before bounding up the stairs and disappearing into his bedroom.

“It is good,” Dean confirmed, as he heard the door click shut behind Sam. Swiftly crossing the room, he removed a blanket from Castiel's hand as the ex-angel prepared to spread it out on the sofa. The hunter returned it, still folded, to the arm of a chair. “You won't be needing that,” he whispered.

“Dean?”

“It's officially Halloween. I'm not letting you out of my sight until Crowley's out of the picture.”

“But... the wards... You agreed we would be safe here.”

“We are safe,” Dean murmured, reaching out to pull Castiel into his arms. “But there's no reason we can't be comfortable too. Come to bed, Cas. Don't make me share that lumpy sofa.”

“It would be cozy.” Castiel smiled, tilting his head to give Dean's mouth better access to a spot just below his left ear that drove him crazy every time. “You couldn't hide from me on the far side of the mattress.”

“I'll cuddle you if you come to bed.”

“That, Dean Winchester, is something I must see. Do you even know how to cuddle?”

“I'm willing to give it a try.” Dean grinned. “It's not like you'll know the difference if I get it wrong.”

“I don't know about that. You were very specific in your description last night. I have high expectations.”

“Then we'll have to recreate the moment exactly.”

Hand in hand, laughing softly and pausing often to exchange increasingly heated kisses, they climbed the stairs.

 

~*~

 

Sam towelled his hair dry and ran his fingers through the tangled mop that resulted. A quick glance in the fogged-over mirror confirmed he was past due for a haircut. Dean usually started nagging him when it fell so far over his eyes it made aiming a gun problematic. In fact, if his warning grumbles were ignored, he had been known to go so far as to take a knife and hack off chunks of hair while Sam was sleeping. But Dean had other things on his mind these days. Sam grinned. Maybe he should tie his shaggy locks back in a ponytail and see if that garnered any notice from his moonstruck brother.

But then, upon further reflection, visions of waking up with his head shaved bald wiped the grin from Sam's face. Maybe he'd better do himself a favour and trim his hair himself. Bobby had scissors in here somewhere...

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching of the bathroom's untidy drawers and cupboards, Sam was about to concede defeat when he remembered Dean had borrowed the scissors a week ago. No doubt they were still where he had tossed them: on top of his bedroom dresser, along with the needle and thread he had also abandoned when he'd finished mending a rip in his shirt.

Sam sighed and poked his head out into the hall. The house was quiet and still. Dean's door was closed, but not quite fully latched. He could very likely steal inside and retrieve the scissors without being discovered. It was worth a try, anyway. He'd never live it down if he walked smack into Crowley because he literally couldn't see where he was going.

Knotting a towel around his waist, Sam crept across the hall, eased open the bedroom door and silently stepped inside. That was his first mistake. He should have waited until his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. Cat-like reflexes saved him from a nasty spill, but his big toe throbbed painfully from its unexpected impact with – Sam glanced down to see what had tripped him. A shoe. And just beyond that shoe, lay another. And a third beyond that, followed by an impressive trail of clothing, with a fourth shoe forming an exclamation mark on the floor at the foot of the bed.

 _Whoa!_ Sam's brain cried. _Last time I checked, Dean only had two feet._

And that is when he realized his second mistake: Dean was not alone in the room.

_Cas..._

Well, okay then. It's not like this was the first time he'd caught them sleeping together. No problem. He could deal with a little semi-innocent bed sharing and inadvertent snuggling. It was actually kinda sweet – not that he'd ever admit that out loud!

Which brought Sam to mistake number three: he looked at the bed. And looked again. Seemingly miles and miles of naked flesh met his astonished stare. So entangled were the two sleeping lovers, that he wasn't quite sure which limb belonged to which man, nor did he linger long enough to try and figure it out. With a final disbelieving glance at Dean's lips nuzzled against Castiel's throat, Castiel's hand possessively cupping Dean's bare ass, Sam shot out of the room so fast he almost lost his towel.

“Uh...” he said, less than eloquently, as he regained the safety of his own bedroom. “Um... yeah. I think Dean is well on his way to figuring out what to do about his feelings.”

 

~*~

 

Dean was not surprised to awaken with a boner. Hey, he was a guy. Morning wood was a fact of life. Especially when you were pressed up tight against a warm body that seemed intent on climbing inside your skin and hugging you from the inside out. So yeah, instant boner. No news flash there.

What he hadn't expected was the lack of desire to do anything about it. God help him, he was happy just to hold the drop dead gorgeous angel in his arms and watch him sleep. Listening to Castiel's soft breaths, feeling gentle puffs of air stir against his breast, Dean felt a wave of contentment sweep through him unlike anything he had ever known.

 _Huh,_ he thought, totally bemused. _So there's more to love than sex? Who would have guessed it?_ His gaze caressed Castiel's peaceful face, touching upon the thick curl of lashes sweeping his cheeks, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw, the stubborn little wisps of hair that insisted upon tumbling across his forehead, the lips...

_Oh fuck, his lips are just made for kissing!_

_They're made for other things too,_ a naughty little voice reminded him. _He's a fast learner. Remember last night? Remember how eagerly he clamped his mouth around your dick, taking you in so deep you thought he was going to swallow you whole? And that thing he does with his tongue..._

“You're staring,” a deep voice rumbled, the vibrations echoing in Dean's own chest.

“That's rich, coming from you,” Dean replied with a grin, giving in to temptation and ravishing the lips he'd been admiring for the past several minutes. Castiel's eyes slitted open and immediately squeezed shut again as he lost himself in the kiss.

“Dean...” he whispered, and gave a long and luxurious flex of his spine that melded him even closer to the hunter.

And oh, hey, no doubt about it. Castiel was obviously a guy too. An impressively endowed one who apparently hadn't gotten the memo yet about sex not always being necessary. In fact, if Dean was not mistaken, Castiel was very actively encouraging the boners they both were sporting. A siren call that Dean was finding more and more impossible to resist. Actually, he couldn't quite recall why the thought of resistance had even crossed his mind in the first place...

Well, since they were already naked and in bed... why not? There might be more to love than sex, but sex was pretty awesome too.

“Oh, God,” Dean whimpered as Castiel rubbed sensuously against him, the angle such that the tip of his cock briefly nudged against Dean's perineum.

Castiel paused only long enough to lock his hand in place on Dean's shoulder as his mouth sought out Dean's, the kiss muffling both of their cries as they gently rocked each other to completion, bathed in a radiant, multi-coloured light that outshone the rising sun.

 

~*~

 

Sam looked up from his newspaper when Dean and Castiel walked into the kitchen and gave them a nonchalant, cheerful good morning, careful not to make direct eye contact with either man. He wasn't sure he could do so yet without blushing – and explaining the reason for such a blush would prove embarrassing for all concerned. So, instead, he pretended to devote his attention to _The Argus Leader_ , all the while closely observing his brother and the ex-angel as they set about preparing their breakfast. It was fascinating to see the choreographed way they moved around and with each other: the way they stood too close, yet never actually touched; the way one reached out for something, only to find the other already handing it to them; the way their glances met and entire conversations were had without a word being spoken. And when they did slip up, and their hands brushed as Dean handed Castiel a cup of coffee sweetened just the way he liked it, Sam found himself holding his breath as the two men froze for the space of a heartbeat. When Dean's little finger trailed down the side of Castiel's hand before Dean turned his attention back to the coffee pot and Castiel drew out a chair and seated himself at the table, it was all Sam could do not to burst into tears as he recalled other mornings, in a kitchen far away, when he and Jess had been the ones to dance this dance.

It took two repetitions of a request for the promised printout before Sam realized that Castiel was speaking to him.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, handing several pieces of paper to Castiel. “Here you go, Cas.”

Dean set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Castiel and slipped a fork into his waiting hand before settling himself in his own chair. For several minutes, there was no sound except for Dean's contented munching, the occasional clink of Castiel's fork, and the rustle of paper whenever Castiel turned a page.

“Well?” Dean said impatiently, when his eggs and coffee were both long gone. “Is it worth pursuing?”

“I believe it is,” Castiel said, giving the pages a final, lingering glance before setting them aside and shovelling into his cooling breakfast. “It is indeed a binding spell. Very powerful, very old and very dangerous. There is no guarantee of success.”

“But it's the best chance we have,” Dean said. It was not a question. The spell was probably their only chance, and they all knew it.

“Supposing it works,” Sam said slowly, “that's only half the problem solved. Where do we keep him bound? I don't think Bobby wants Crowley living in the panic room for the rest of his days.”

“That's not going to be a problem,” Dean snarled. “I'm going to kill the fucker. I just need the spell to hold him down so he can't wriggle away.”

“It's too bad we don't still have the Colt...” Sam said wistfully.

“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Castiel growled.

“Do you think you still can?” Dean said hopefully.

“Not as I am. My Grace is, perhaps, within eighty-five to ninety percent of being returned to me. It is hard to be precise with the measurement. It... fluctuates. And no matter how hard I try to hold on to it, it keeps slipping away from me.”

“I'm doing the best I can to stuff it back inside you.” Dean grinned.

“You are indeed.” Castiel smiled fondly.

Sam made gagging noises.

“So where does that leave us?” Dean said, ignoring his brother.

“Vulnerable,” Castiel replied. “Perhaps we should rethink this plan. The binding spell alone is not enough to permanently dispose of Crowley.”

“We have Ruby's knife. I learned a trick or two in Hell.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said softly. “We cannot ask that of you.”

“I can do it,” Dean insisted.

“Only if you have to,” Castiel said firmly. “Perhaps, there is something in this spell that I missed. Something that destroys as well as binds. I must undertake a proper translation. It will take me several hours.”

“Do your best, Cas,” Dean said. “But whatever you do or don't discover in those pages, we act today. We summon Crowley and keep him under wraps until we find a solution. It's not ideal, but it buys us time. We can't afford to wait until he's ready to come after us. We need to seize the advantage while we still can.”

 

~*~

 

It did indeed take several hours for Castiel to be satisfied with the translation. As the ex-angel worked, papers and stacks of books spread all over the kitchen table around him, Dean hovered close by, leafing through volumes to find references, supplying endless cups of coffee and once, when he thought no one was looking, providing a welcome massage of the tense muscles in Castiel's neck and lower back.

Seeing this out of the corner of his eye, Sam headed Bobby off from inadvertently intruding on the tender moment, requesting that he help him locate a much needed tome that he was unable to find. Muttering about Sam needing glasses, Bobby turned on his heel and wandered back into the study. A quick glance over Sam's shoulder as he followed after the old hunter revealed Castiel leaning into Dean's touch, his face tilted back to accept a kiss as Dean's head bowed down to meet him.

Finally, it was done.

“Good work, son,” Bobby said, shuffling through a stack of neatly handwritten pages. “That's some mighty fine translating.”

“The trick was to transcribe Althochdeutsch to Neuhochdeutsch, rather than going straight from eleventh century German to modern English. Then, if you extrapolate 'angel' for 'heaven' it all falls into place,” Castiel said modestly, standing and giving his back and shoulders a bone-cracking stretch.

Bobby fanned the papers out on the kitchen table to better display them and all four men gathered around to study the text.

“Wenn... Tränen... aus...” Sam read haltingly from one page, before pushing it over towards Castiel. “You do the honours, Cas.”

“Wenn Tränen aus eines Engels Augen fliessen und auf heiligen Boden fallen,  
Und Jungfrauenblut durch eine heilige Klinge geopfert wird,  
Dann muss der Dämon durch diese Worte gebunden sein.”

“In English, please?” Dean gave Castiel an impatient nudge in the ribs.

“When tears spill from an angel's eyes and fall on sacred ground,  
And virgin blood is sacrificed by a holy blade,  
Then, with these words, the demon must be bound.”

“Well...” Dean grinned. “Bad poetry aside, does that mean what I think it means?”

“It does,” Castiel confirmed. “If performed correctly, the spell will be permanently binding. There is a useful corollary as well. We can bind the demon to an object, literally transform him into that object, and hide him away somewhere he will never be found. I have compiled a list of all the things we will need.” He edged it out from the bottom of the pile.

“Sacred ground, check,” Sam said. “There's an urn or two of that down in the panic room. Holy blade, also check. You don't get much holier than an angel's sword.”

“Calamus, bindweed, cayenne, oil of Abramelin...” Dean read. “Hey, I thought the ingredients would be hard to come by?”

“Perhaps they were in the eleventh century,” Sam said wryly. “Or still would be if you weren't best buds with an angel.”

“Tears of an angel,” Bobby said, gleefully rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the various knives and bowls and other paraphernalia he had laid out on the far side of the table.

“You are not torturing Cas to make him cry,” Dean warned, his voice a deep growl in his chest.

“Relax, you big baby,” Bobby snorted. “I'm not gonna hurt your pwecious widdle angel. The spell doesn't specify the cause of the tears. He can sit and peel onions. That should work. And it'll give us a head start on supper too.”

“Onions?” Castiel frowned. “I do not understand.”

“I'll explain it to you later,” Dean said with a grin.

“As for the final item – blood of a virgin – by Cas's reckoning, we need about a pint. So...” Bobby held up the angel sword and smacked the flat of the blade against his palm. “Ante up, Cas.”

Sam's head whipped around to face Castiel, Castiel stared blankly at Dean, and Dean's gaze dropped to the floor.

“What? It's only a lousy pint of...” Bobby's voice faltered into silence as Castiel began to shift his weight from foot to foot like a naughty schoolboy called up before the principal, and Dean suddenly became even more entranced by the kitchen tiles. “You idjits,” he breathed. “Tell me that you didn't...”

“We did,” Castiel mumbled, a hot flush travelling up his neck.

“Well that's just fucking great.”

“It was very pleasant,” Castiel agreed seriously. “Dean is – ”

“Uh, uh, uh!” Bobby held up a hand. “Stop right there. That's more than I need to know. Ever.”

Castiel closed his mouth with an audible snap.

“You couldn't wait?” Bobby turned on Dean. “You couldn't keep it in your pants just a little while longer? Just until that rat-faced bastard Crowley was out of the picture?”

“It was my fault,” Castiel said miserably.

“I rather doubt that,” Bobby snapped.

Castiel levelled his best 'don't fuck with me I am an Angel of the Lord' glare on Bobby. “It is the truth,” he said. “I am the one who could not wait – not another day, not another hour.”

“Goddamn it! Where the hell are we going to find a replacement this late in the game?” Bobby groaned. “Showtime's in less than three hours, and we and our virgin have all been screwed.”

“Um... well,” Dean coughed, and slowly raised his eyes. “Technically, Bobby, that isn't true.”

“But you said – ” Sam sputtered. “Cas said – ”

“We had sex, Dean,” Castiel reminded the furiously blushing hunter. “Four times. Five if you count – ”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Cas. I remember. I was there.”

“I know I'm going to regret asking this,” Bobby sighed, “but, if you and Feathers are... uh...”

“Doing the horizontal mambo? Fucking like bunnies?” Sam suggested.

“Whatever,” Bobby conceded wearily. “Then... what the hell are you getting at, Dean?”

“Theresbeennopenetrationinvolved,” Dean mumbled.

“What?” Bobby and Sam chorused.

“He said, there has been no penetration involved,” Castiel translated helpfully. “How is that of significance, Dean?”

“It means,” Sam said slowly, “that you are still technically – _very_ technically – a virgin. Maybe not according to the Catholic Church's edicts – they would definitely frown upon whatever form of hanky panky you two get up to, fornication being a mortal sin and all – but, for the purpose of this spell...” He shrugged.

“Congratulations, you idjits,” Bobby drawled. “You managed to do something right. Of course, you still have plenty of time to fuck up, so let's get that blood – now!”

Castiel obediently held out his arm. “I am still a virgin?” he said wonderingly. “That is... unexpected news.”

“Don't worry, Cas,” Sam patted him on the shoulder consolingly. “I'm sure it's nothing Dean can't fix.”

 

~*~

 

The sun set at 17:43. At 17:45 Sam and Bobby finished loading supplies into the Impala.

Bobby slammed the trunk shut and glanced at Sam. “That's the last of it,” he said. “You want to go tell Dean and Cas we're ready to roll?”

“Give them a few more minutes,” Sam advised. “If this doesn't work...” He trailed into silence. He didn't want to contemplate the shit storm they might be riding into, but it was heavily on his mind. Dean would be thinking the same thing: they might not all come out of this alive. That Castiel was number one on Crowley's hit list was a given, but none of them were exactly in the demon's good books. Crowley would be out for blood, and Dean's inimitable knack of pissing people off would not help calm down matters any.

 

~*~

 

Dean looped Castiel's blue tie around his neck and executed a perfect Windsor knot. Stepping back to assess the effect, he frowned. Something was off. His eyes caressed the crisp white shirt, new dark suit, scuffed dress shoes and dirty trench coat.

“I do not understand why it is necessary for me to wear this,” Castiel said, a finger fidgeting at his too tight collar.

 _Bingo!_ A light bulb went off in Dean's mind. Quickly he undid his careful work, flipped the tie so that it was inside out and tied a sloppy knot that hung a few inches below two unbuttoned buttons.

“Because, this is the way Crowley will expect you to look,” Dean replied. “The way he has always seen you. The way he saw you last. God in a rumpled trench coat. It will place him at a psychological disadvantage.”

“I see.”

Dean's hand gave a teasing tug on Castiel's tie, pulling him forward until the hunter's lips brushed the shell of his ear. “It gives me a psychological advantage too,” he admitted. “I have every confidence that my angel will once again save my sorry ass.”

“I shall certainly endeavour to do so,” Castiel said, peppering the words with kisses before laying claim to what remained of Dean's breath with a long and leisurely exploration of his mouth.

“Okay, then,” Dean murmured as their lips reluctantly parted. “We're good to go?”

“Yes, Dean. We are good.”

 

~*~

 

After much deliberation, it was decided to set up their trap in an abandoned warehouse several miles outside of town limits. Sam and Bobby had suggested returning to Crowley's lab, theorizing familiar surroundings might possibly lure him into a false sense of security. Castiel argued vehemently against this, saying the wily demon would undoubtedly have laid traps of his own, and that neutral ground was therefore safer. Dean, to no one's surprise, sided with Castiel.

And so, as night's cover deepened around them, the four men prepared for the coming battle. Castiel used holy ground to draw a sacred circle on a meticulously swept cement floor: an amalgam of a typical pentagram, the Key of Solomon and sigils both from the German text and of his own original design. Oil of Abramelin and virgin blood glistened at crucial junctures, and at the centre of the trap lay an ancient silver coin, the future vessel of the demon if all went well. While Castiel concentrated on the elaborate artwork, and Bobby set up an altar, Sam and Dean placed and lit an impressive array of candles.

Finally, they were ready. Each man took up one of the cardinal positions: Castiel in the West, behind the altar, Dean in the East; Sam at the North, Bobby to the South.

Dean's eyes met Castiel's across the sacred circle and, for a moment, their gazes locked and held. No one moved, no one breathed... Then Dean nodded slightly, and Castiel drew a deep breath and began to recite the spell.

As the angel's deep, rich voice filled the room, Dean felt the hair rise at the nape of his neck, prickles of primordial dread sending shivers up his spine. Timbers creaked as a sudden wind began to buffet the outside of the building, making the walls tremble and a fine sifting of dust filter down from the high rafters.

 _By the pricking of my thumbs..._ Sam's lips soundlessly shaped the words, and the young hunter drew his shoulders back and stood even taller at his post.

A familiar rush of love and pride warmed Dean's chest and he smiled faintly, shaping the expected, equally silent reply: _Something wicked this way comes._

Sam flashed him a grin.

But Dean didn't feel much like smiling anymore. He could feel a malevolent presence like the eerie brush of cobwebs on his skin, could taste a hint of sulphur on the air...

Castiel uncorked a tiny vial and spilled its contents upon a small container of consecrated soil. Picking up the angel sword and a second vial, he let a thin stream of blood run down the holy blade to the dark earth, scarlet mingling with the silver shimmer of his tears.

“In the name of the Holy Father, I summon thee and command thee to appear,” he intoned. “Before the Hosts of Heaven and the Spawn of Hell, I name thee, Crowley, and I bind thee with this spell.”

Every candle in the room flickered and was extinguished.

In the sparse light that filtered through the warehouse's high-set, filthy windows, a man-shaped figure appeared in the heart of the sacred circle.

Castiel was the first with enough presence of mind to turn a flashlight upon the shadow's face.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley drawled. “Did you miss me?”


End file.
